


make me feel good, shut me up

by chrysallis_thenum



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Deepthroating, Dick so good erlendur goes dizzy, Dry Orgasm, Erlendur is a cockslut, First Time Blow Jobs, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Ragnar McDaddy Lothbrok, Wessex Era, handjob, sex in a tent, short hair erlendur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2020-02-09 19:35:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18644695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chrysallis_thenum/pseuds/chrysallis_thenum
Summary: When Ragnar and King Horik first lands in Wessex, Ragnar independently requested for a treaty.  King Horik's upset and Erlendur wants to keep Ragnar around.





	make me feel good, shut me up

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first work so there may be some mistakes here and there, and it could be going too fast?? idk? 
> 
> Hope you enjoy this. This pairing is so dry in the actual show, but like,,,pre-long hair Erlendur looks so,,bottom and Ragnar mc daddy Lothbrok is right. there.

“You made my father upset, Ragnar Lothbrok,”

Ragnar looks up to see the young prince Erlendur standing by the entrance of his tent. The faint glow of the lanterns casted a warm colour on the boy’s otherwise ghostly complexion and an orange glare on his grey eyes. Perhaps it was the cold air that flushed his cheeks red and the dust that watered his eyes. His head was tilted down but had his eyes looking up in a sharp gaze. Predatory.

Ragnar shifts and sits himself up on the bed. He places the little knife he was fiddling with beside his pillow and locks both hands behind his head; he replies with a smart, ugly grin and nothing else. What the little prince was doing in his tent at this hour he did not know, but he’ll find out soon.

Erlendur flicks his eyes down to the man’s bare torso for a brief second before looking him straight in the eye once again. “It won’t do you well to make him upset.”

This time, Ragnar tilts his head and, grin still on his face, asks, “and what makes you think, Prince, that I aim to please?”

Erlendur blinks, slow, and walks closer to the bed. He then bends down and places both hands beside Ragnar’s feet. He looks up to the man’s eyes with a dangerous stare. “Because _the king_ can send you back to Kattegat right this second if you go against him, _Earl_ Ragnar Lothbrok.”

After a few seconds, Ragnar breaks eye contact and scoffs, pushing his torso forward and bringing his hands to the mattress to lean closer to the boy. “So, tell me, Prince Erlendur, how can I… please?”

The boy looks down to Ragnar’s lips before locking eyes. He has the same look now as he did when he was standing behind King Horik during the meeting, full of mockery and dangerous futures.

The smirk on the boy’s lips curl into slow words, like a hyena seeing a limping fawn. “My father listens to me best. If you appeal to me,” Erlendur rocks his hips forward to bring him closer to the Earl. “Perhaps I can save your travel.” He then bit into his lower lip in a tease; the glint in his eyes suggests to Ragnar that maybe the little prince has been waiting for a chance like this for a while.

And maybe Ragnar will play along. Best to keep the Prince happy after all.

So he shifts until he’s sitting on the heels of his feet and his eyes are on the boy’s level. The shark grin never leaves his lips. “And do tell me how I can _appeal_ to you, Prince Erlendur.”

Their faces were closer than ever now. Ragnar’s bigger frame overpowering Erlendur’s smaller one; lips ghosting over another but neither moved first. Erlendur’s lips twitches.

“I don’t know. I don’t wish to hold high expectations on what you can do for me and be disappointed later.” He lifts a hand and drags a finger — barely touching and more so chilling contacts — down Ragnar’s eyebrow, to his cheek, to his jaw, to his lips. He falls silent as his fingers press on the chapped skin and into Ragnar’s mouth; teeth nips on the digit before he drags it on his tongue, feeling the slick muscle move and curl to wet it up.

When Erlendur looks to Ragnar’s eyes he no longer sees the teasing glint in his eyes and the playful curl of his lips. Instead, he sees his bright eyes cloud with something dark and cold to mirror the ice of their colour — Erlendur knows that look, lust. He’s seen it many times in many people’s eyes, and none looks as good as Ragnar does now. Big, bad Ragnar Lothbrok looking at him with such intensity that he feels he might as well wet himself right there and then.

Erlendur brings his knees up to the bed so he was now hovering over Ragnar. He pulls his fingers out of Ragnar’s mouth and into his own. He keeps his eyes on Ragnar’s and sees the way they twitch and gleam when he brings his tongue out to lick the digit dirty.

“So maybe perhaps you should simply lie down.” He finally finishes his sentence.

Wordlessly and still holding eye contact, Ragnar slowly shifts his feet and lean back into his earlier position. Erlendur crawls closer and settles his feet beside Ragnar’s thighs, straddling the man. He lifts up his shirt and throws it off the bed – he sees Ragnar’s tongue flick out to wet his lips – before placing his hands on his shoulders and bringing his lips down to lick the hollows of his neck, then up to nip at his earlobe, then lick and breathe into the curves of his ear, then closing on Ragnar’s lips. The kiss was sloppy and obscene and loud, with teeth nipping at each other’s lips and tongues folding over and around the other. Erlendur moves his hands up and down Ragnar’s chest, feeling the tight muscles under them; he settles them around the man’s neck and scoots closer until they were pressed against each other.

When Ragnar bites his tongue, Erlendur arches his back and wiggles his hips down. This lets out a guttural sound from the man’s throat, low and animalistic, and hands come up to grip his waist. Erlendur pulls away, lips swollen and wet and red to look at the man before him in similar conditions. He bit his lip and grinds down again, then enjoys the snarl from Ragnar and the hands tightening around his waist in warning. He grins and licks the man’s lips when he feels a hardness growing under his arse, even through the layers of cloth.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, Erlendur,” Ragnar growls, all mock titles and tease gone from his voice. His teeth once again captures the boy’s bottom lip in between them. He gives it a lick then releases it. “One that I’m very skilled at.”

“Then I must say that I’ll be having fun, Ragnar Lothbrok,” he slides his hands down Ragnar’s chest once again and leans down to bite on his nipple. The man sucks in a breath and Erlendur licks it up.

“Don’t move,”

He then glides down Ragnar’s body with his hands, feeling every gods-blessed muscles and his lips mouthing a trail down to his trousers. Erlendur makes quick work of sliding them down. He sighs when he sees the blonde curls and licks his lips when he sees the delicious cock springing up to his face. Ragnar was a man of great physique and a body Odin must have molded himself, contoured muscles and sharp edges; handsome face and intelligent eyes and strong body and beastly – that was what Ragnar was, _beastly_. Erlendur wasn’t disappointed when he sees his cock magnificently thick even half-erect; long veins protrude and making Erlendur’s mouth water with want.

Freya surely blessed this man.  

He wraps a hand around it and begins to twist and pull, watching the man’s bright eyes darken with lust and close shut, his lips part to let a groan out. Using the dry friction, he continues to pull the foreskin back to reveal the needy head already producing a bead of precome. Erlendur keeps his hands moving as he leans up to demand a hungry kiss from Ragnar; the man pulls away to sigh when Erlendur brings in his other hand to fondle the balls.

“You’re pretty good at this, Prince,” Ragnar grins, face a little flushed and hands twitching to pull on those pretty curls.

“Some of my father’s counsels won’t settle for dirty whores, and I’m willing,” Erlendur replies, breathy. He feels his own cock stir hard as his hands mold and feel every curve and edge of Ragnar’s cock; he feels it throb once when Ragnar curses, and again when the man grabs his hair and pulls his head back, and again when he feels a hand slip underneath his shirt and tug on an erect nipple. “And Ari doesn’t like women.”

Ragnar stills.

“Your _brother_?”

The way Ragnar whispers that word like it was a sin makes Erlendur sigh and run his tongue all the way up to the tip slowly.

“ _Yes._ ”

He slides his thumb over the cock’s slit and Ragnar came back down. “You know, Ari taught me something.” Erlendur lifts his hands off and shifts so he was face to face with Ragnar’s red cock. With it right in front of him like that, Erlendur could see every intersection of every vein, could see them throb with the loss of touch, could see a little drop of precome peeking out of the slit, as if to tease the boy for a taste. “Let me show you, Ragnar Lothbrok.”

Without another word, Erlendur goes in for a slow lick up the shaft. Ragnar groaned, loud, and throws his head back; the shock loosens his grip on the blonde locks. The Prince doesn’t wait for the man to gather himself and engulfs the head in between his lips. The bitter-salty taste overcomes his tongue and Ragnar’s smell fills his entire being, the natural musk fused with the smell of dirt and the permanent stench of blood clouds his mind until he could feel, taste, nor smell anything else but the man under him. Ragnar hisses like a little cat; Erlendur circles the tip of his tongue around the slit before sliding further down, down, down, until he couldn't take anymore. Ragnar did have a cock too big for Erlendur’s little mouth.

The man doesn’t mind though, because his head was still dropped back and his mouth was agape and his eyes screwed shut. Never had anyone went down with their mouth on him, didn’t know anyone even did that. But _fuck_ , does that feel good. The warmth of the Prince’s mouth was bringing him more pleasure than any hands could; Erlendur’s slick tongue was doing wonders around his cock, wrapping and flicking and dragging along the shaft. Ragnar sees through the slits of his eyes Erlendur’s hollowed cheeks as he gives a long, hard suck and pulls off with an obscene _pop!_

Erlendur looks up and Ragnar sees the mess of a mouth – his red lips wet and sore, and droplets of saliva dripping down the corners of his mouth before that fucking tongue peaks out and flicks the liquid away. Within a beat, he parts his lips and sticks out his tongue and goes back in to suck on that cock; Ragnar closes his eyes again and sucks in a sharp breath.

Erlendur watches the man above him closely, watches every twitch his lips make, watches how his throat bobs with every grunt, watches every flare his nose makes. Watches big, bad Ragnar come undone before him. With simply a mouth and a tongue.

Ragnar stays like that, too overwhelmed to move. He feels his knees wobble and his limbs shake every time the head bumps onto the back of Erlendur’s throat; groans when Erlendur moans because that sends otherworldly vibrations around his cock.

But all of a sudden, it was cold.

Erlendur had released his cock and was now looking up at him underneath his eyelashes.

“Pull on my hair,” he simply says before going back down to give little licks down stretches of veins underneath. When Ragnar didn’t respond, the boy grabs his hand and places it on his head. When he licks down and sucks on a ball, Ragnar clenched his fist so hard the boy had to let go and moan. “ _Yeah_ , just like that.”

They continue on like that — Erlendur licking and sucking and swallowing on Ragnar’s cock with his eyes closed while the man tugs and pulls on his hair as he does so.

It was too much and not enough all at once. Erlendur’s mouth was warm and perfect but it didn’t reach all his length; his pretty little mouth could only cover half, and Ragnar just wanted more.

So he gripped his hair harder and pushed the little head down.

And whatever control Erlendur thought he had over Ragnar was gone. He couldn’t stop himself from gagging as the thick girth go further down his throat and force it open. He chokes out incoherent complains and looks up at Ragnar, eyes begging to stop because he _just couldn’t breath!_ But all he saw hooded eyes and hunger and lips lifted into a snarl.

And so there Erlendur stayed, hips buckling and grinding against the bed, because the pain soon turned into dirty, dirty pleasure and he finds himself voluntarily gagging to open up his throat and take that big cock further. He wonders what a mess he must’ve looked like, with tears down his face and drool down his chin and his mouth all slick and his hair all tousled up in Ragnar’s tight fist. By the way Ragnar was looking at him, Erlendur must’ve looked like a dirty whore.

And the thought excites him. Excites him that _he_ was the one coming undone; no longer in need to be in control, to be the perfect prince, to be King Horik’s good little boy. And so he keeps sucking and licking and swallowing under Ragnar’s intense gaze, pressing his own hips against the bed, Ragnar’s leg, his own thighs — anything! Anything to get himself off.

And when Ragnar grunts and pushes his head down particularly far and hard, Erlendur comes. Comes with Ragnar’s cock thrusting up on his throat with great speed. Comes with his eyes rolled back and a cry on his throat. Comes with such force that his jaw goes slack and Ragnar was able to fit in his whole length down his mouth and stuff his nose with blonde hair and musky odour.

Comes untouched.

For a minute Erlendur goes blank. He stops seeing and even didn’t feel Ragnar slide his cock out. When he finally notices, he whines at the feeling of his dry throat. They finished faster than he wanted, but he wasn’t complaining. He came so good he might as well be in Valhalla right now.

Still blurry minded, Erlendur stumbles forward to sit on Ragnar’s lap again, wrapping weak arms around his neck and pressing wet kisses on his lips. His body felt so limp he had to cling onto Ragnar’s sturdy frame to keep himself from falling down to the bed.

“Should’ve came in my mouth,” he mumbles between kisses. “Would've made me feel all warm.”

“Who said I came yet?”

Then Erlendur feels something shift under him and then he feels it – Ragnar’s cock still hard and wet pressing against the swell of his ass.

_Oh._

Erlendur’s limp cock twitch back to life.

“You like that, Prince?” Ragnar sneers, bringing his hands down to cup the swell cheeks. He slides Erlendur’s filthy trousers down those soft thighs and tossed them somewhere. He sees the tip of the little Prince’s red cock coated white.

He lifts the boy’s hips and positions it so the tip of his cock’s head was prodding gently at the little hole. “You like the thought of me fucking you? After you just came, too.” Ragnar lets the boy drop a little, just enough so an inch of his tip was loosening up the muscle.

“Yes,” Erlendur whines and drops his head. His hands grip those strong shoulders tightly at the feeling of that _god-awful_ head teasing him. He breathes out, “yes, _please_.”

Then Ragnar lifts Erlendur’s hips once again, pushing the boy’s face into the crook of his neck. After a second, he feels something wet press up against his hole. He feels it circle tauntingly around the muscle and he feels himself opening up to invite it in. Sure enough, he was soon filled with Ragnar’s finger. He moans right beside the man’s ear and he feels his hips being held tighter, but the finger inside keeps its composure and simply slides in and out of him with patience.

“Another one,” he breathes out when he ached for more. Ragnar complies.

When Ragnar has his third finger in and his lips sucking on Erlendur’s soft shoulder, the boy groans out for him to just “fuck me already!”

“Are you sure? My cock isn’t the size of my three fingers,” the man chuckles.

Erlendur hisses and turns his face to bite Ragnar’s neck. “Did you think I came into your tent expecting a chat for five minutes? I’ve opened myself up in my tent before I came, so just _hurry up!_ ”

The thought of Erlendur in his little tent, laying on his bed with his legs spread wide and fucking himself open with Ragnar on his mind draws out an animalistic growl from his throat.

So Ragnar grips Erlendur’s hips and brings him down to his waiting cock. He watches Erlendur hang his head with a loud moan and his cock bounce to life as he watched his own cock sheath into the boy’s tight hole.

“By the Gods!” He rumbles onto Erlendur’s neck. Ragnar stills because not only did the boy just gave him… whatever the fuck that was, but he also has a nice tight ass just for him tonight. Thinking of those old men and even Erlendur’s own brother having this to themselves just made Ragnar’s hips thrust with wild possessiveness — tonight, the little Prince was his and his alone, and he wanted to use him to the best he can.

Erlendur starts to move his hips, chest still pressing against Ragnar’s and arms still wrapped around his neck. With every move he moans louder, because the sensitivity from his release earlier was still overriding his senses, tingling his body and clenching his asshole. When he feels his cock throb after a sharp bounce, he drops his head on Ragnar’s shoulder and whines, “in Odin’s name, fuck me, Ragnar Lothbrok, fuck me!”

And he does.

Ragnar holds Erlendur’s hips in place and pistols his own into the boy from so many angles that hits so many spots that he just cries and whines and moans all at once. The harsh sound of skin slapping on skin echoes through the tent and Erlendur has half a mind to remember something.

“My father… Ragnar Lothbrok,” he gasps, then stops to whine when Ragnar hits a spot. “My father is in the tent next to us.”

Ragnar has the audacity to growl and bite into the tender skin of Erlendur’s neck. He thrusts hard again before grunting out a “so?”

Erlendur peels himself away from Ragnar’s chest to look him in the eye. “So you better shut me up, Ragnar, before I cry so loud he bursts in here.”

“Hmm,” the man simply sneers before suddenly bucking up to hit _that sweet spot_ just right. Erlendur’s whole body shakes and he drops his jaw and cries just as the thought purposefully getting louder to get back at him crosses his mind.

But that thought—or any thought really—was soon erased from the little Prince’s mind when he feels thick fingers enter his opened mouth. They press down on his tongue and he quickly wraps his lips around the digits — three, as he quickly counts with the tip of his tongue.

When he was sure Erlendur was all shut up, Ragnar uses his free hand to spread an ass cheek and feverishly thrusts his hips into that sweet spot earlier, over and over and over again until Erlendur couldn’t even make a sound — he simply bounces on Ragnar’s cock and drools on his fingers.

And this was it, he thinks, this was the kind of fucking he had always wanted. Not the sweet, gentle love Ari gives him, or the sloppy, fast ejaculations he got with those old geezers. This, _this._ This wild fucking Ragnar gives, the rough touches, the bruising holds, the animalistic sounds, the numbing feeling Ragnar’s cock gives, the dirty mess he makes of Erlendur — this!

And like he read his mind, Ragnar asks him in that sickly sweet mockery tone of his, “you like bouncing on my cock, little Prince? Am I better than those counsel members?”

Of course knew the answer to that. Knew from the way Erlendur was hazy eyed with tears just about to spill out and drool coming out of those lips of his. Still, the boy bounces once and breathes out a “yes,” through the fingers in his mouth

“Better than your brother?”

He holds back a sob into a moan first before drawing out a “ _ye—s!_ Oh gods, Ragnar, just—” he stops when Ragnar draws out a thrust, slow and treacherous, that leaves Erlendur rolling his head and slacking his jaw, dropping Ragnar’s fingers from his lips. “Fuck me, Gods! Fuck me until I can’t even walk into battle tomorrow— _oh!_ Fuck me better than those old fools and my brother ever could, please!”

Ragnar grins that shark smile and holds both of Erlendur’s ass cheeks apart to give better access. And when Ragnar _pulverises_ his insides, he arches his back and sobs hard, and soon his head feels light and his walls tighten and his stomach curls and he _explodes_. He explodes once again with a strangled cry and his eyes rolling back, seeing stars in the darkness.

Again, he comes with great force, shuddering as the pleasure ricochet through all his insides and wrecking his mind, like he just suddenly forgot how to speak or move or do anything but stay there and continue to feel Ragnar’s merciless rhythm into him. He feels his hole flutter with the pressure and hears Ragnar’s grunt at the sudden tightness and feels the hands on his ass dig deeper—even in this state Erlendur could feel the man’s nails claw against his tender skin.

When he looks down, Erlendur sees the white mess splayed over his chest in great amounts, some drops even landing on Ragnar’s clenched stomach. Still dazed in the post-orgasm shock, he drops his head to Ragnar’s neck and places sloppy kisses there while still slowly rocking against his cock.

Ragnar had made him come twice in a row. The most he ever got was an hour of slow sex with Ari (the old geezers never lasted long, a quick fuck and they’re spent), so feeling this drained was new and unfamiliar. Even more so when Ragnar never falters his rhythm but instead going faster and harder into Erlendur’s very much abused hole.

“Stop,” he tried to whisper weakly, but fails when his voice cuts off with a whimper as the electric feeling of his used ass spreads the more Ragnar continues. Erlendur has just came and without mercy, the man continues to pound into him. “I just came— _ah!_ Please, oh, it hurts, _ah!_ ”

Ragnar replies with a growl and a pull of Erlendur’s hips closer, forcing the boy to spread his legs apart to keep his knees from hitting the headboard. This new angle, however, allows Ragnar to push his cock into spots that lifts Erlendur’s own back to life once more. Erlendur chokes a whine and falls back into the exhausting rhythm Ragnar keeps.

“Stop,” he cries, unable to think of the pain of yet another release, this time possibly dry and painful. “Stop, please, it hurts.”

Ragnar grips the back of Erlendur’s head and tugs it, revealing his soft neck to bite on. Erlendur feels, with every nip and lick and bite, his hole clenching against Ragnar’s cock and it leads the man on to grunt and thrust even wilder.

He soon loses his rhythm however, and pistols in to hit the same sweet spot with messy thrusts to milk out his own release. Erlendur was half awake when he feels his body spasm once again – as if out of his control – and his cock pathetically limps an empty release.

Three times.

Ragnar made him come three times without mercy and in his last one, he couldn’t even spurt out a single drop of semen.

Ragnar however comes as he grips Erlendur’s hips so hard they were both sure hand prints were going to be there even after a few days; he bites down on Erlendur’s bottom lip until it bled to strangle a loud growl; his muscles tense against Erlendur’s tired ones.

But it wasn’t the pain of Ragnar’s hold that brought the whine up Erlendur’s throat again — it was the warmth inside him. Ragnar came right inside him, shooting his release in thick ribbons that Erlendur feels are coating his walls and filling him up; he knew when Ragnar pulls out, his semen would drip down his thighs shamelessly.

Perfect.

“Don’t pull out,” he whispers to the man.

When Ragnar looks at him confused, Erlendur merely smirks weakly and place his hands on his strong shoulders. Then he brings his feet up so they were beside Ragnar’s hips and so when Erlendur stands up and Ragnar’s limp cock slides out of his ass, Ragnar gets a full view of the cum dripping down Erlendur’s inner thighs. He eyes the drops with predatory eyes, and when Erlendur sighs with the feeling of being emptied, the man pushes him down onto his hands and knees.

“I do not want you to be empty so soon,” was all Ragnar said before he picks up the dripping cum and pushes it back into Erlendur’s hole. Watcing from the back like this, he’s able to watch how the muscle flutters and swallows up his essence and his finger with ease despite being so spent and abused.

“Your hole looks like it was made for cock, Prince,” he curves a finger and feels the gooey liquid shift around it; he hears Erlendur sigh and push his hips back again. Ragnar angles his hips so that his ass was in the air and his face was planted on the mattress. When he pulls out his finger, he sees through the gaping ass his cum pooling inside. “How about you keep me in there for the night and be all filled up, hmm?” He says with his lips on the curve of Erlendur’s ass. He brings his tongue out and licks lines up and down each cheek before settling just under his hole. He places a soft kiss on it and the Prince sighs. “Or how about I watch you spill it down your legs? What would you like, Prince Erlendur?”

Erlendur peeks over his shoulders and bats his eyelashes at Ragnar, feigning shyness and embarrassment. But the words that slips through those wicked lips were anything but; “Watch me leak out and you’ll lick me clean, won’t you, Ragnar?”

The man gives Erlendur’s ass a little bite in response.

Erlendur then brings his torso up and his hips a little lower. That was all it took for the little pink hole to flutter once, twice, before droplets of cum spills out. Ragnar watches each drop slide down Erlendur’s fair thighs and just before they fall on the mattress, he grabs those hips and licks the droplets up — up, up, up his tongue went until they reach the fluttering hole. He circles around the textured muscle once and tease its entrance; when Erlendur grunts and pushes his hips further into Ragnar’s face, he finally gives the hole a lick. With every droplet that leaks out, Ragnar licks it clean. Within a few minutes, Erlendur had no more traces of Ragnar in him and they both collapse with heavy chests.

Erlendur looks at Ragnar once, stands up, and walks to pick up his clothes.

When the Prince is once again in his clothes, they look at each other. Ragnar stays on the bed, and Erlendur walks over and settles in between the man’s parted knees. He cradles the bearded jaw and leans down to press a kiss — gentle, unlike before.

“My father never intended to send you back,” he whispers against Ragnar’s lips like a dirty little secret—perhaps it was; Erlendur had lied to get himself what he wanted after all. “He would never lose such an important ally in this raid.”

Ragnar brings a hand to the back of Erlendur’s head, fondling the blonde hair before pulling him in for a bite on the lips once; he slides his lips up to the boy’s ear and whispers his own words, “I know. He talked to me just before you came into my tent.”

Erlendur looks at Ragnar with wide eyes. “Then why did you…?”

“Because, my little Prince,” he says, low and deep, on his neck. Suddenly, his hands were holding Erlendur’s hips once more and pulls them down to his lap; he fondles the plump flesh as he finishes: “You were offering yourself _so_ good for me. How could I say no?”

He hears the Prince sigh beside his ear. “Hmm, so will you play with me from now on, or do I have to _offer_ myself to you every time?”

Ragnar chuckles, “ _‘ask, and you shall receive’_ , as my little Priest once told me.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry if you found the Erlendur-Ari thing weird😔


End file.
